The Invisible Line
by Orion Tiye
Summary: Bobby's mother dies and he goes a little bit nuts. Results of a VERY insistent plot bunny. Most likely WAY OOC, but who knows.
1. The Seduction of Destruction

Title: The Invisible Line  
Author: Orion Tiye  
Fandom: Law & Order: Criminal Intent  
Pairing: None, mostly Bobby-centric  
Status: First Draft  
Series/Sequel: None  
Disclaimers: All belongs to whoever controls LOCI. I am poor.  
Summary: Bobby's mother dies, and he goes off the deep end. Results of a very insistent plot bunny. Most likely way OOC, but who knows, considering Bobby. LOL

He walked down the busy street, not noticing the people moving out of his way. Somehow, being out among the masses was worse than being back in his apartment, surrounded by his books. At least his books didn't mutter curses at him, or cast him looks.

Even though his mother had never set foot in his apartment, Bobby still felt the loss in every molecule of air, as thought the universe itself had been changed since she passed. Even three days later, he found he could not force the words "She's dead" to come.

Suddenly, he felt an intense urge to hit something. Anything. Just feel the muscles tense and release the energy into something else. Mentally, technically, objectively, he knew he was using the feeling as a shield, keeping the deep feeling of grief at bay. Physically, it didn't make a bit of difference.

He wished he could go to work. There, at least, he could channel this mobile energy into something constructive. Out here, he felt somehow lost. Without purpose.

Walking across a street among a throng of others, he caught sight of a pickpocket in action. An involuntary grin split his face for just a moment. Finally, something he knew how to handle.

He fell into step behind the rather clumsy thief easily. The earlier buzz in his mind shifted to a low, throbbing pulse, giving him purpose and will. Watching the thief pick his target gave him time to absorb the kids' point of view, try to understand where he's come from and why the turn to crime.

The main questions of "Why are they doing this?" and "Where have they been?" were like a mantra to him, and fueled his constant thirst for knowledge.

The pickpocket found a mark. His posture changed, along with his stride, becoming almost panther-like. Unfortunately, he picked the wrong mark.

As the kid started to reach for the guy's wallet, he turned and pulled the young man down an alley.

Bobby picked up his pace and as he reached the mouth of the alley, he could hear the blows landing.

"Hey!" He yelled as he sprinted towards them. The thief lay supine on the ground. No blood, but that didn't mean much.

The former victim whirled around just in time to see a whirl of sound, shadow and fury bear down on him before the blow landed.

After the first blow, all the others came so easily. Each brought satisfaction, and the sound/feeling that had hummed in his mind intensified again. He lost count of the number of the contacts. Head, stomach, jaw, kidney shot, and a kick just below the knee brought him down. Almost instinctively, Bobby reached for the holster that wasn't there. A few more kicks to the now prone man and Bobby paused.

The sensation of the rapid blows still rang in his head and hands. Rubbing his hands over his face and through his short-cropped hair, he made his decision. Grabbing the man, he hauled him up and slammed him against the wall. It took the lolling green eyes a moment to focus.

"Hi." Bobby's eyes bore into his with an almost wild ferocity. A few grunts were all that escaped from the injured man.

"Now, why were you doing that?" He hissed, using his head to indicate the still supine form a few feet away. The green eyes started to lose focus again. Bobby shook him, banged his head against the spray-painted wall and received a satisfyingly wet sound. Still the eyes refused to focus on his. Again, the head into the wall. Again. He let go, and the body crumbled to the earth.

An urge to laugh nearly overcame his better sense. He realized that he'd just crossed that invisible line. So many times he'd wanted to or very nearly hit someone in the interrogation room, but he always held back. Even when he'd been hit himself (that punk kid who thought himself a prophet always sprang easily to mind), he always checked himself. It was a hard job, and a hard line to hold in his mind. Often enough, some force was required. Intimidation was a part of daily life. It was easy for him to make someone highly uncomfortable, size did matter sometimes.

The young man stirred.

"Oh..." He moaned, holding his left arm, sitting up slowly. "Whoa. Hey, man, thanks for coming to my rescue." He got to his feet and tried to move around Bobby, to get back to the street. He'd seen enough of death to know that the crumbled form of his attacker was dead. The quite large man standing in his way had a wild look in his eyes. Not good. Definitely not good.

"Not so fast," Bobby said in his well-used danger voice. The kid stopped instantly and leaned on the wall. Apparently, he'd been hurt pretty bad. His first impulse was to get the kid an ambulance, then remembered the human-shaped pile of meat behind him.

Slowly, Bobby advanced, closing the distance between them. The kid's eyes flitted every which way, searching for an escape route. An odd sense of pleasure mixed with glee spread through him at the fear in the kid's eyes. The same sense that always threatened to overwhelm him in the interrogation room, only this time he made the decision in a second to let it come. This was too much fun.

"Why are you trying to run?" Bobby's voice was low and harsh. He was acting on a sort of autopilot, only listening to his instincts. He could almost feel the panic rising in the thief.

"I.. I don't know," he stuttered. The kid's brain was screaming at him to RUN, but the message couldn't get to his muscles.  
"Are you afraid of me?" Now Bobby was only a few inches away, whispering in that same low voice. An odd half-smile, half-smirk played across his face as the injured kid tried to speak. He leaned in even closer, till he was a hair's breadth from his ear.

"You should be."

The fist flew on its own, landing square and powerful into the young man's solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. This time, Bobby did laugh, a low, hollow, mirthless sound.

He hauled the kid up by his long hair, pushed him up against the wall.

"We're going to have a little chat," he said. "And if you don't answer, or if you lie to me... well, why ruin the surprise?" He smiled a purely predatory smile and glanced back at the dead man behind them. When he locked eyes with the one he was holding, the fear and silent pleading told him that he understood.

"What's your name, kid?" May as well start with the basics, see if he'd at least be honest on that. And, if not, there'd be less wasted time. After a few seconds of silence, he gave the kid's shin a quick kick.

"What is your name? It's not that hard of a question, is it?"

"Mark," he said, coughing. There was a weight in his chest, like something warm spreading through him. He just didn't want to get hit again.

"Good name. Now, why were you stealing things?" A sense of disbelief settled on Mark at the question. What the hell was wrong with this guy? Beats someone to death and then plays 20 Questions?

"I don't know."

Instantly, Mark knew that was the wrong answer.

Another rapid succession of blows, delivered with Bobby's full strength behind them brought the kid down for the third time that day. Why didn't people ever listen to him? They all try to outsmart him, out plot and plan him, and it never worked. Bobby sighed and heaved the kid up again.

"Let's try this again, shall we?"

Tears were streaming down Mark's face, blurring his vision. He nodded, not sure he could speak. Desperation made his limbs itch, his pulse raced in his ears.

"I just wanted," he started, breathing what felt like needles and fire. "I just wanted money. Okay? Please, let me go." Pleading tasted terrible to him, but he assumed dead would be worse.

Footsteps approached from the mouth of the alley. A man, around mid-twenties, looking apprehensive about what he was doing.

"Uhm, what's going on?" Even his voice was apprehensive. Bobby looked at Mark and removed a hand and reached into his pocket, enjoying the visible flinches from both parties. He pulled out his wallet, which had his police badge. He flashed it to the interloper, whose color flashed bright red and apologizing profusely, turned and hightailed it out of the alley.

Grinning again, he turned back to Mark, and laughed at the sight of his eyes, nearly as big as saucers.

"What? Wasn't expecting that, were you," he said, taking on the threatening tone again.

"No... I guess not." A small, fleeting hope burst into being, cops didn't kill just for the fun of it, right? He hadn't yet heard of it, at any rate. Perhaps he could get out of this in one piece. Mostly.

"Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted? That's right, you were pleading for your life," Bobby said, poking him in the chest, bringing another flinch. "Unfortunately, I'm not in a very good mood today." He brought his knee into the kid's stomach, but held him upright.

"In fact, I'm really quite pissed," he said with a slight laugh in his voice as he grabbed Mark's jaw on both sides, thumbs in front of the ears, and snapped his neck.

Mark's body fell too the ground in a jumble of arms and legs.

Bobby turned and walked away, feeling both more on edge and more relaxed than he had in days.


	2. The Price of Truth

Chapter Two

Alex Eames sat at her desk, staring at the larger-than-normal pile of paper work. Her attention passed to the empty chair in front of her. She reached for the phone again, but pulled back. She'd already tried reaching her partner at least a dozen times just today.

She'd last seen Bobby at the reception after his mother's funeral. It was like he'd cut off from the whole world. She'd seen him retreat into himself before, but never like this. Though they'd never been anything but friends, they'd become close. Sometimes she knew exactly what he was thinking, and sometimes he was a total mystery. But the way he'd acted at the reception, and was reduced to monosyllabic answers on the phone the next day concerned her. The fact that now she couldn't even reach him made her worry even more. But, she knew that if she pushed or seemed as concerned as she was when she finally saw or spoke to him, he'd probably close down to her for a while.

She sighed and picked up her pen again. She'd left a message for him on his voice mail. When he felt it was right, he'd call. Meantime, she had piles of forms to fill out.

After her pile was reduced by about half, the phone next to her rang. Hope mixed with relief blossomed inside her. Surely it was Bobby, returning her call.

"Eames," she said, instantly hating the breathless sound in her voice.

"Detective," started a slightly familiar voice, female. The hope and relief fell. "We just got a call. I think you should take it."  
The halting, nearly apologetic tone got Alex's attention. What was this about? A dozen scenarios played out simultaneously, all ending badly.

"Okay, go ahead." The line clicked as the call was transferred.

"This is Detective Eames," she said, pleased to find that her normal voice had returned. It wasn't good to sound like a schoolgirl at work.

"Yeah, hi. My name's Jerry. Listen, I was walking and I heard someone getting the crap beat out of them. I don't know why, it was really stupid, but I butted in. The guy who was doing the beating, he, uh, well, he showed me a police badge, so I left. But the more I thought about it, the more it wasn't right, you know? So I guess, I'm wondering if the guy was really a cop or not."

The entire speech was delivered in about two breaths.

"Okay, just slow down, take a breath. Did you get a look at the guy who had the badge, or maybe get the number off of it?" Sounded like he was calling from a street phone.

"Yeah, I got a look at him, but only saw the badge for like a second."

"Why don't you come in, see if we can't get a sketch done. You know where we are?" Couldn't hurt, she thought. At the very least, get her away from this damned paperwork.

"Yeah, okay."

"Thanks. See you soon." She hung up, stretched and decided to make a trip to the coffee machine. She spotted the captain holed up with paperwork of his own and couldn't quite repress a grin. She knocked on the door to his office and he looked up and waved her in.

"Heard from Goren yet?"

She shook her head. He'd attended the funeral as well, and though he'd not said anything, Alex knew he shared her concerns about him.

"I'm sure he'll turn up. I just got a call from a guy," she began, relating the phone conversation and her inviting him up to talk to a sketch artist.

"Sounds like a plan. I'll call Eric. I think he's on today."

She nodded and left, going back to pretending to fill out papers. After about five minutes, a very uncomfortable-looking young man stepped into view. Alex stood an approached him.

"Are you Jerry?" She asked as she got within earshot of him. He nodded, but his eyes refused to rest. Probably wondering about the quality of the police force, if what he saw was a cop, she figured.

"Come with me, please," she wove her way through the desks to the visitor's room where Eric, the sketch artist, was waiting. She made the introductions and excused herself. Eric never really liked audiences and she always found the sitting-and-listening part of it boring.

More paperwork done, now the pile was almost gone. Almost. Perhaps Bobby taking a few days wasn't such a bad thing after all. The pile would have usually taken her at least several days. Paperwork had never been her favorite part of the job.

"Eames!" Her name silenced the low roar of conversation. Turning, she saw Eric holding the door open, his color high. "You'd better come over here. Grab the captain, too. You're gonna want to see this, both of you." He ducked back into the room.

Feeling really confused, she rapped on the captain's door and poked her head in.

"Sorry, sir, but Eric wants us both, he says there's something we need to see."

Figuring the lines of confusion on his face mirrored her own, she led the way to the room where Eric was now talking animatedly with Jerry.

"- I just want you to be absolutely positive on this." They only caught the last part of what he was saying, though it was pretty clear something had happened. Eric was always calm and cool when doing sketches. Part of the job, sometimes it was really emotionally rough for the victims, especially if there was rape or violence involved.

Alex exchanged looks with her captain. She could tell he was thinking the same thing she was. Whatever this was, it was big.

"What's going on, Eric?" she asked.

Eric hesitated, which only served to irritate her further.

"What is going on?"

As though conceding to the inevitable, he handed over his sketching book with a sigh, then took a step back. Alex fixed him with a slightly suspicious look, then glanced at the sketch. What she saw made her feel like the floor had given way.

"Oh my God," she whispered. The sketch was snatched out of her hand. The image stayed with her, though. Feeling her way to a chair, she collapsed into it.

It couldn't be, just not possible. The book thumped back on the table as the captain nearly ran back to his office. She didn't want to look again, but her eyes were drawn back to the perfectly rendered sketch of her longtime partner, Bobby Goren.

"What happened? Tell me everything," she said, ripping her eyes from the sketch. There had to be some way that this wasn't true.

"Like I said, I was walking down 4th Ave, and I could hear someone getting beat up. I know it was stupid, but I went into the alley and asked what was going on. That guy," he said, pointing to the sketch, "was holding this kid up against the wall. He looked pretty bad, I don't think he would have been able to stand up on his own. There was another person, but I'm pretty sure he was dead, laying on the ground behind them. I didn't hang around to check, though. The guy who flashed the badge, I mean, he looked kinda crazy, something about his eyes, just... I don't know, mad. I'd bet good money the kid is dead too. So was this guy really a cop?"

Alex's mind had gone numb. Was this really happening? She ignored the guy's question, somehow thinking that if she didn't speak it, it wouldn't be true. After telling Eric to get Jerry's phone number and address, she went back to the captain's office. This time she didn't bother to knock.

"What is going on?" The question, directed at her, infuriated her. How was she supposed to know?

"I don't know," she said, sinking into the chair, running her hands through her hair. "But you saw that sketch. It was way too close for a coincidence. What are we going to do? I mean, if he's out there and bad off like this.." she didn't want to finish the sentence. They both knew how dangerous Bobby could be if he wanted to be. He was, if anything, stronger than he appeared, and his size made him seem pretty damned strong to begin with, and add into that his expertise out on the firing range..

This could be bad. Very bad.

"Have the witness tell you exactly where this happened, then get out there and check it out. We've gotta figure out if this is for real or not, and soon. I'd suggest that as few people as possible get involved in this, but I suspect you've already figured that out. This could be bad, Eames. Find him, wherever he is, and do it fast." The weariness in her boss' voice made her pause after she got up.

"Do you think we could have stopped this? Should we have insisted he take the time off, or let him work like he wanted?"

"I don't know, Alex. Probably wouldn't have made that much of a difference, either way."

She nodded as she left, rushing to talk to Jerry before he went back out. There was truth in what the captain had said, except that if they'd let Bobby come back to work, she might have been able to do something to stop him from actually hurting someone. Now there might be two dead bodies out there, both killed by Bobby? It sounded ludicrous, and she refused to believe it until she saw them for herself. But, if there were.. she knew she'd feel at least partly responsible for them.


	3. Relaxation and Confrontation

Chapter Three

The streets seemed to hum. Though he walked with his usual pace, he wanted to run. Put as much distance between himself and the two dead bodies behind him. The adrenaline high was long gone, though the memory of how good it had felt remained. Whenever the sense of it came, he both wanted to do it again or claw his skin off to make it stop.

Home. Have to get home, the thought reverberated in his mind, led his steps. He wasn't sure if he was going to hole up there, hide from the world, or change, grab the gun he'd wished for earlier and go back out. Both options held appeal and disdain couched within one another. He'd decide when he got there.

Closing and locking the door behind him, he turned on every light he could find. Sitting in a chair, surrounded by the harsh light, he stared at his hands.

Flexing them into fists and back again, Bobby noted the soreness and slight bruising coming on the knuckles. Not wholly unexpected, that. The same mobile energy surged within him again. He sat back in the chair, rubbing his face with his hands, tried to breathe evenly.  
Suddenly, he sat bolt upright and threw the table lamp across the room. The sound and motion helped, but only a minute amount.

Standing up, he started pacing, trying to resist the urge to throw everything not bolted down. He entered the bathroom and cranked the shower on, as hot as it could go. As the steam filled the room, he peeled off his clothes, making a note to get rid of them. Too bad, really. He'd always liked this shirt. No sense in keeping them, while there wasn't much blood on them, there was enough. He'd learned long ago, there was always enough.

Stepping into the shower, Bobby reveled in the sense of the hot water hitting his skin and the steam rolling off of him. It was right at the border of being painful which in a strange way, made the experience that much more pleasurable.

In the enclosed safety of the shower, he let himself ponder the mesh of pleasure and pain. He knew that within the individual, the border between the two was often fluid. The addition of endorphins and/or adrenaline blurred the line even further, such as when a woman went through labor. This he'd read and understood well enough in his own life. What he'd not really had much firsthand experience with was how much pleasure there could be from causing pain in another. He'd always somewhat enjoyed causing discomfort and intimidating people, but that was more of a technical skill than a fist to the face.

He knew that he likely should feel guilt or shame for his behavior today, but like knowing he should be grieving, the knowledge did nothing. Intellect, for all it's obvious advantages, had nothing on the intensity of human emotions. Which, by all rights, sucked.

Taking a deep breath, he plunged his face under the shower spray. The water was starting to lose its heat. Even as the water began turning cold, Bobby found he didn't want to leave. In here, there was no sense of time or the rest of the world. In here, he was safe. As the cold began to seep into his body and the shivering began, he turned off the water, grabbed a towel and headed to the bedroom.

The blinking message light caught his attention as he was dressing. The debate in his mind was easily won, and he played the message back. As he'd expected, it was his partner, checking up on him. What he hadn't expected was the anger that welled up within him at the fact that she was checking up on him. What irritated him more, as he viciously hit the "erase" button, was the fact that he could have used checking up on.

He wasn't going to call her back. Not until this, whatever it happened to be, was out of his system. Bobby wasn't sure about how much control he had over the mood he was in. The memory of the attacks were blurring even now. He couldn't remember any coherent thoughts, just the incredible feeling of power and satisfaction at the physicality of the encounter.

Stretching out on the bed, he stared at the ceiling, tried to lose himself in the infinite space between inhale and exhale.

He was snapped out of a light sleep he hadn't realized he'd fallen into by the immediately recognizable knock of a cop. Panic blossomed in his chest for a moment as he sat bolt upright. Then he laughed at himself. Terribly amusing, being o this end now. Bizarre, or ironic more likely.

Another knock, this one followed by a familiar voice, calling his name through the thick wood of the door. As he approached it, the inherent humor in the situation began a slow death. The shards of the lamp were still covering the floor. Too late to clean it up now. He opened the door and let Alex in.

She'd felt nearly weightless at the sight of the bodies in the alley. How could any of this be happening? Alex realized, after a closer examination of the bodies, that what had happened wasn't just a simple beating, this had been vicious. And the sheer strength behind some of the blows really forced her into a torn place.

Back in the captain's office, she reported that what she'd found matched with Jerry's description and location, a long moment of silence stretched between them. Before he'd been able to say anything, she grabbed her coat and made to leave.

"Where are you going, Eames?"

"Where do you think? I've got to go see him," she had turned and left as quickly as she could, hoping that her captain wouldn't come after her, tell her not to go. Something was wrong, somewhere. She had to find out what it was and at least try to fix it.

It was almost a relief when the first knock was met with no answer. She'd felt oddly guilty checking her gun in the car on the way to Bobby's. It's just the job, she kept telling herself.

When he opened the door, she first thing she noticed was that Jerry had been right, there was something vaguely unsettled about the way he looked. She moved past him and saw the broken table lamp.

The lock on the door clicked in place. She turned around and saw him leaning on the door, resting his forehead against it. With what looked like great effort, he turned around to face her. As they stood, several feet apart, the silence became deafening. Alex also realized what it was that was different. In all the years they had been partners, Alex could remember only a handful of times she had seen Bobby's eyes stay focused on something for longer than 30 seconds. Now, his gaze was rock-steady and almost piercing. It felt like he was looking right through her.

"Why did you come here?" He asked, voice different than she'd heard before, too. Low, harsh and as steady as his gaze. No hesitation, no almost-stutter. Alex suddenly felt fear, which bothered her more than anything else.

When they'd been assigned to each other, she'd certainly felt unsure, even uncomfortable, but never afraid. A part of her was glad she'd checked her gun before coming here. Instantly, she regretted the thought.

"This is why, Bobby," she said, pulling the sketch out of her pocket and showing it to him. His eyes flashed dangerously as they settled on the image.

"What's going on? I saw them, Bobby. I don't know what to think." She said, putting the sketch away. She took a step towards him, and was surprised by the intensity of his reaction. As she'd moved forward, he'd tried to go backwards, but couldn't, so he surged forward and put more distance between them.

"You shouldn't have come here. Especially if you know about," he seemed to choke on the word, "them. Please, just go. Leave me alone."

Alex was growing more concerned with every passing moment. He definitely wasn't right, and at least part of him knew it. Could be a good thing. Or, could end up being a very bad thing. The ever-changing landscape of possibilities was beginning to annoy her.

"You know I can't do that," she found it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. Alex lowered herself into a chair and stared at the floor.

"It's easy enough. Turn around, walk through that door and forget you saw me." The words seemed to tumble out of him, gathering strength and volume with every syllable.

"Even if I wanted to, I can't. It's not just me that knows. I told the captain and I don't know what he's going to have to do. Bobby, come on, just--"

"Just what?" The force behind the words jarred her. "What do you think is going to happen here? I know damn well that I'm not going to get any kind of slack!" As he spoke, he pulled a hard bound book from the shelves lining the walls nearly floor-to-ceiling. Idly, he flipped the pages back and forth.

"I'm sure we can find a way," she began, the pleading evident in her voice. "Just come back with me, we'll--" She ducked as the book flew through the air and collided with the wall behind her. Looking from the now inert book to her partner and friend, she found she didn't recognize him. Pure fury and changed him. She stood.

"You said you saw them! You said you know what happened, what I did to them. If you did, you would not have come here." He was yelling now, and she finally understood why the suspects he interrogated responded as they did. Under the full force of Bobby's fury, she would have told every secret she'd ever held to get away.

"Yes, you killed those men, but there's a way we can--" Again, she dove to the floor as something else flew her way, crashed into the wall and fell. This wasn't going as she'd planned.

"I didn't just kill them. I destroyed them," he nearly screamed at her. With an almost gliding stride, he began to close the distance between them. Alex tried to find a way around him, tried to not get cornered, but his relentless advance froze her in place.

"And you know what else?" His voice lowered to something resembling a growl. She was trapped and couldn't seem to avoid his piercing eyes. She shook her head and a feral grin spread across his face.

"I enjoyed it."

Many feelings clawed over each other to gain dominance within Alex. First was disbelief, then terror. What was she doing, standing there dumbly as he towered over her? Must have been panic, that.

All that came out of her was was a soft, "No."


	4. Behind Enemy Lines

Chapter Four

He couldn't figure out why Alex was here. The ferocity of the attacks should not have gone unnoticed. So why, then, was she standing here, why had she allowed herself to get cornered by him like this? He'd given her plenty of time, given her reasons, both verbally and through threatening her, yet she'd remained. Didn't she understand? The rapidly cycling emotions he saw in her eyes brought a small glimmer of hope.

"You need to leave," he said, for what seemed like the twentieth time. She was always stubborn, but this was getting ridiculous.  
Still she refused, staring at the wall beyond him. A sense of anger took over, pushing the frustration to a background player. The fist flew on its own, colliding into the wall, barely an inch from Alex's head. The flinch was incredible and in the sudden movement, she tripped and fell to the floor. When she looked up at him, there was nothing but fear behind her eyes. Finally, he thought. Then he saw her hand twitch towards where he knew her holster sat.

The anger shifted, becoming an odd mix of fear, panic and rage. Bobby sat his foot on her wrist and leaned on it slightly. He had to resist putting his full weight on it.

"You want me to leave, fine," she said, voice strong, even if her body language totally shattered the illusion. Bobby moved his foot away, and she stood, flexing her wrist. "But later, I'll remind you that I gave you a chance. Count on it." With a look that spoke of the inner pain, she reached for the door and turned the handle. Nothing happened.

Now this was much more interesting, he thought as Alex whirled on him, gun drawn. Even now, she refused to hold his gaze, though her voice still held the strength he'd often equated with her.

"Let me out, then."

He looked at her, studied her for a moment, head cocked to one side.

"Or what? You'll shoot me?" A laugh came out of him, unbidden, void of humor. "Go ahead, Alex. Save us both trouble later." He surprised himself by almost hoping that she would, and by the depth of the disappointment that coursed through him as she lowered the weapon.

She must have seen something of it show on his face, because now she approached him, took as tall a stance as she could and in a surpringly commanding voice, demanded he open the door. The blatant show of attempted dominance stunned him, and Bobby found himself taking a step toward the door before he regained his place.

The hand flew before the movement registered, and the sound of skin on skin reverberated around them. Both parties were stunned and for a moment, neither moved. Finally, Alex was the one to break the silence.

"What the hell, Bobby?" She held her hand to her cheek and checked it for blood.

"You don't get it, do you? For all your posturing, your wit, you don't understand what it's like," he stopped himself in mid-sentence, suddenly not caring if she understood him or not. He jerked his arm forward and even through the several layers she was wearing, including her long fall coat, Bobby could see her tense. Moving quicker than was needed, he flipped the lock and opened the door. It swung within a half inch of her face, set her hair flying. Some kind of half-strangled sound escaped her, before she could stop herself.

Finally able to put his full weight and strength into something, he grabbed her by the arm and flung her through the door. After a few seconds of flight, almost past the second door down the hall, gravity kicked in, and she landed off-balance.

He slammed the door closed and only just resisted the urge to put his fist through the wall.

Alex Eames had to take her heeled boots off to get back down the stairs properly. The way she'd landed had been awkward and though she didn't think the ankle was broken, it still hurt like hell. Tears threatened to overwhelm her, but she refused to let them come. Years of training told her to just take a giant step back from the friendship, the attachment, but as hard as she tried, it was too much.

As she limped down the last flight of stairs, she found herself marveling at the ease with which Bobby had tossed her, and so far. She'd always known he held himself in check on an almost constant basis, and now that she'd experienced firsthand just how much strength he could raise with little difficulty, she understood why.

Back on the ground floor, she sat down on the last step and eased her boots back on. The right went on with no problem. Her left ankle had swollen to nearly twice its normal size, so putting that boot on was painful and difficult. Finally, once properly shod, she gimped her way back to her SUV, thankful that she had not landed on her right ankle. At least this way, she could still drive.

She put the keys in the ignition, but didn't turn the car on. Stretching out her left leg, she leaned back, trying to breathe evenly. Going to see Bobby had been a mistake, but she'd needed to do it. Now that she'd seen him and how he was acting, how his personality had shifted, she might find it easier to bring him down, if it came to that.

Maybe.

She shook her head and started the engine. Half way back, she realized her knuckles were white and forced herself to relax. She knew that she'd catch hell from the captain for the way she'd left, though hopefully he'd let up when he saw her limp.

A partial laugh escaped her at the thought. Hopeful as she was, Alex knew the fact she'd been injured, even if not that badly, by Bobby would not go unnoticed. The captain would grill her about what had gone down, and she still wasn't sure how she'd gotten through the experience the first time with her wits mostly intact. She had no idea how she would get through making a report about what had taken place that would almost certainly end Bobby's career on a very sour note.

Each step she took from the elevator towards her desk seemed like an eternity. The fact that all of the other detectives stopped their busy work to watch her limp by didn't help. Apparently word had spread quickly about what Bobby had done. Not surprising, she had always been in the great minority in trusting both him and his instincts, even though they nearly always ended up being right. Granted, she didn't feel very trusting of him at the moment, but being face to face with someone that close to insanity tended to chip away at that sense of trust.

Her desk was littered with message forms, apparently her nephew had started crawling. Alex indulged herself a smile at how her family never seemed to realize that the other members of the family had phones and would call her, too. She'd have liked nothing more than to turn right back around and go gawk and applaud her nephew's latest achievement, but given the current state of affairs, she doubted that could happen.

The sound of her name jarred her out of her momentary reverie. She cringed, knowing from the accent and emphasis it was the captain, and that the manner of her return had not gone unnoticed.

Rising slightly unsteadily, she tried to hide the limp as she crossed the floor and walked through the door he was holding open for her. She could feel the eyes of all the other detectives on her as he closed the door. Apparently he noticed it as well, as he closed the blinds, then turned to her.

"Sit down, Alex, before you fall down." He gestured to the chair and she lowered herself down and extended her leg, not able to keep the wince from appearing on her face.

"Do you need to get that ankle checked out?" The question was asked lightly, but the undertone said he'd already figured out what had happened.

"No, sir, it's fine. Just sore. I'll wrap it later, just to be sure," she instantly regretted even mentioning wrapping the joint as the first aid kid was brought out with a flourish. He hauled the table over and gave her a pointed look but did not ask. With a sigh, Alex swung her foot up on the table and gingerly removed the boot she'd struggled to put back on.

The swelling hadn't increased, but that could have been because of the boot. She certainly hadn't been staying off it. Bruising had started along the outside edge around the ankle bone, probably where she had landed after being thrown down the hall. She breathed deeply as the ankle was wrapped quickly, deftly and well.

"There, that should hold you for a while," he said, but didn't move to sit behind the desk again. They stared at eachother for a moment, and he sighed. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

She tried to look anywhere but his expectant eyes, tried to avoid answering the question. Of course, avoidance never solved anything, she reminded herself harshly while taking a deep breath and started telling her story.

As the tale went on, the color gradually drained from the captain's face. By the time Alex was done, she felt oddly calm, as if she had somehow transfered her anxiety and burden of knowledge to the now quite distraught appearing man sitting across from her.

"My God," he breathed, running his hands over his face. "He actually threatened you and bodily threw you out of his apartment? Incredible. And terrifying," he peered narrowly at her. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Stifling an exasperated sigh, she nodded.

"Of course, knowing you, you wouldn't say anything," he muttered, as much for himself as for her benefit. Alex always hated showing weakness, even when it was an almost expected thing.

"So what are we going to do about this?" The question was directed at her this time, and the frusteration rose in her again. Why was she being asked these questions? How was she supposed to know?

"I don't know," she said in a defeated voice and tried to relax and distance herself from teh sharp pains radiating up from the ankle.  
"I"m sorry to keep harping, I really am, but you know him best of anyone. If you have any ideas at all--"

"I don't know him!" Suddenly, all the emotions she'd been fighting came out, and all as anger. "The Bobby I know, that I've worked with, wouldn't have done anything like he's done today. You know this. He wanted me to shoot him, for God's sake!" She found it surprising that she wanted to jump up and start pitching a fit.

"Look, I know you're not going to, but you should go home, get the ankle taken care of, just to be sure. We can take care of this, Alex. Somehow."


	5. The Flip Side

( Author's Note: I'm taking a few liberties with this story in general, I realize this. I don't know much of anything about police procedure, never having been on either side of the law personally. But, since this is called fan-FICTION... I believe that I can take a few liberties both with the story and the characters. Please bear this in mind when reviewing. )

Breathing was doing nothing, nor was any other supposed self-calming technique that Bobby tried. Finally, he decided to go out again. Almost automatically, he dressed and grabbed a jacket with a pocket on the inside, in which he stowed his gun. He wasn't planning on using it, he just wanted it at his side in case it came to that. Since Alex's visit, he knew he couldn't stay home.

As silently as he could, he tread the halls and stairs, hoping to escape without question. He knew his neighbors well enough, and though they kept to themselves in general, he doubted that the yelling and hurling about of things would have gone without notice. As he stepped back onto the darkening streets, he exhaled, not realizing he'd been holding his breath.

Twilight cast interesting shadows on the city, and there was an odd sense of quiet that took over as the night deepened. Traffic was just as bad as in the daytime, the drivers were just as quick with the horn and voice, but somewhere behind and beneath the cacophony of city life, there was a feeling of peace.

He chose his directions randomly, and soon Bobby found himself walking one of the streets where prostitutes were nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. Many of them gave him barely a glance, some deepened their coloring underneath their cosmetics, having recognized him. It never failed to amuse him how many cars would circle several times, then stop and pick up a prostitute. Moreover, it never failed to pique his curiosity as to how a woman could become a "lady of the evening".

One of the women approached him, hesitant, not meeting his eyes. She kept glancing behind her, as though afraid she was being watched and didn't want to do the wrong thing. A beginner, probably. He guessed her age at early to mid-twenties, small build, pretty green eyes shadowed by fear, loss of both sleep and pride. As she got within speaking distance, however, he realized her age was more rightly mid to late teens. Horrified, he took her arm and took her down an alley. She seemed to simultaneously relax and tense up.

"What's your name?" He asked her, gently. He wanted to put his coat on her shoulders, but remembered the gun stashed in the pocket. He couldn't figure out a way to move it without it being seen and didn't want to scare her any more than she already was.

"Jennifer," she said, voice high and tense. "So what -" She started to reach for him, but he grabbed her hands and pushed them away. A look of confusion passed over her just-shy-of-pretty face.

"Jennifer, how old are you?" He kept his voice neutral, level, even though he wanted to find whoever was putting her on the street and bash his face in.

"Why does it matter? Look, if you just want to talk, that's not going to cut it, so I'm just going to go now," she turned to leave, and Bobby grabbed her arm, pulled her back around.

"Listen to me, little girl. I just want to know who you work for, that's all." The low, intense growl had seeped back into his voice and she flinched, automatically. He instantly regretted it, but needed to know.

"Mac. He's on the third floor. Just don't let anyone know I told you, I don't know what he would do to me." There was desperation in the voice, but pleading came from her eyes which locked on to his and wouldn't leave.

"Okay. Here," he handed over one of his cards to Jennifer. "Go call this number, ask for Alex Eames. She'll help you with anything you need. Go on." The words came out almost automatically, before he was able to think. She took the card, looked at him, stood on her toes, kissed him on the cheek and left as quickly as her shoes would let her. He hoped that the young woman wouldn't get sent away if she mentioned the encounter. Figuring that whatever personal feelings his partner might have at the moment towards him would be pushed aside once Jennifer told her story, he turned and walked out after her.

He must have looked like he was on a mission, because the other women wouldn't even meet his eyes as he walked along the sidewalk and up the three flights of stairs to find this "Mac" character. Once on the third floor, he glanced up and down the dilapidated hallway. Leaning against one of the doors, trying his utmost to blend in, was a long-limbed Hispanic male. Figuring he'd found where Mac was, Bobby approached, and the guard's attention was aroused. He looked Bobby over from his feet to the top of his head and, even though he was a good head shorter, tried to take up a typical Alpha-male stance.

"What do you want?" The voice had only a hint of an accent, but the hesitation said that English wasn't his first language. Bobby looked down at him and considered his options. May as well try to be civil.

"I'd like to see Mac," Bobby said, trying to sound nonchalant but still stare the guard down. The other man started squirming slightly under the gaze and couldn't hold the eye contact. He dropped his eyes to the floor for a moment, seeming to gather strength.

"I don't know who you are talking about. There's no one here." The words came out equally civil, but the sneer upon the darkly complexioned face belied that.

"Then you have no reason to be standing here, or to fear me going inside, do you?" Bobby made a move to reach for the doorknob, but the long and slim fingers of the guard grasped his arm with surprising strength. Bobby inwardly sighed. As much as he still felt the urge to beat the living hell out of something, he also knew that a public hallway was not the place to do it. Still, he had to get inside somehow.

A hard backhand to the jaw put the guard out and the knob turned easily. Wasn't even locked. Could Jennifer have given him the wrong information? Always possible, though doubtful. He reached into his pocket and took out his gun, holding it ready.

As he began pushing the door open, he became acutely aware of the lack of protection. Bobby glanced at the prone guard, suddenly wishing he hadn't been so quick to dispatch him. He could have been of use. Little late, now, however.

The inside of the room was dark, even though every lamp was on. The walls were paneled in a dark wood print, probably was trying to mimic a maple of some sort. The furniture was plush and upholstered in deep, natural colors. Bobby became aware of a shifting shadow over by the windows.

"Mac?" He called out, voice filling the room. The human-shaped form turned on its heel and came into the halo of light cast by one of the lamps.

He was a fairly small man, maybe 5'10, most of the moderate extra weight was concentrated around his midsection. He appeared to be in his mid to late 30's and had beady dark eyes deep-set in a pale and nondescript face.

"Yeah, I'm Mac. Who are you?" The voice that came was unexpectedly sharp and high, an accent that Bobby couldn't quite place. His face drained of color even more at the sight of the weapon in Bobby's hand. He tried to back away, but the larger man's approach was relentless.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure we can work this out, be civilized about it, you know," Mac tried to look beseeching, put his hands up, but the pitch of his voice showed how afraid he was. Bobby saw this and used the natural advantage his size gave him to back him to the wall.

"Civilized? You want to be civilized now, but you put CHILDREN out on the street? How is that civilized?" He put his face an inch from the other man, and pressed the gun to Mac's temple. "Please, tell me, I'm simply DYING to know how that is civilized."

Coherent thought was impossible for Mac just then. All of his higher reasoning was busy trying to keep him from losing control of various functions. The pressure of the weapon against his skull, however, brought him back to the present moment.

"I can't imagine where you got such bad information. I haven't anything to do with putting anyone on the street, let alone children!" The darting of the small eyes told Bobby that he was just trying to buy his life, which was all that mattered to him. The rage built in him again, as the afterimage of Jennifer's fear- and shame-filled eyes came to the front of his mind.

He took several steps back from Mac, who visibly relaxed, thinking the confrontation was over. He opened his mouth to speak, but never got the chance.

Bobby leveled the gun at Mac's head and fired. The surprise in his eyes lasted only a moment before they glazed over and took on the blank expression that death always brings. He stood there for a moment, studied the fallen man for a moment, then turned and left. Just as he reached the door, it swung open and the long-limbed guard ambled in, apparently having regained consciousness at some point and had heard the shot.

His eyes widened at the sight of his boss on the floor. He made a move towards Bobby, as if to strike him. He kicked the younger man's legs out from underneath him and after he was struggling to regain his footing, Bobby gave him a hard whack on the side of the head, just behind the ear with the butt of the gun. He went down easily, again.

He rolled the unconscious man onto his stomach and shot him once at the base of the skull. The smell of gunpowder, blood and death hung in the air, and Bobby suddenly felt claustrophobic. He opened the door and left the building, trying to look calm.

He wondered how many of these women would be able to turn from this line of work because of what he'd done... and how many would just find another person to work under. In the grand scheme of things, people would do what they felt would get them the greatest return for the least amount of work.

Darkness had descended fully on the city while he'd been up on the 3rd floor. Somewhere, Jennifer was probably telling Alex about her encounter with him. She'd probably think he was doing better, or at least hope that he was because he'd done what he so often did, and helped someone. That would continue until she went to the room on the 3rd floor and saw the recent carnage he'd left in his wake.

Somehow, he felt a gaping hole appear in his chest when he considered both what he had done today, and what his longtime partner was thinking, would think of him. He'd destroyed whatever trust they'd built between them. But he wasn't sure what he could do about it, so he clung to the illusion that he'd helped someone by his actions. Tried to keep the adrenaline pumping, so that he couldn't think too much or too clearly.

Either way, he had a feeling that dawn would bring something very different to his life.


End file.
